by Seven Steps
The room was filled with silent slurps and the sound of hard bread breaking.
“What’s a nigger?” Danny asked.
Terra and Nic looked at each other. Terra put her eyes back down into her bowl of stew.
“I don’t know,” Nic replied.
“Why did that man call you a nigger lover?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did they pick a fight with you, Terra?”
“I don’t know. Because I’m different, I guess.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Deanna said. “It’s hot, and these clothes smell funny.”
“We will only be here for a few more days, dear,” Terra replied.
“Can you teach me how to punch somebody?” Danny asked, his eyes large with admiration.
Nic ruffled the boy’s hair and smiled. “Maybe later.”
“How did you learn how to fight like that?” Danny asked.
“Yeah. How did you learn how to fight like that?” Terra asked.
Nic shrugged and continued to eat.
She’d thought that he was a docile creature. A gentle giant who wouldn’t hurt a fly. The fact that she was wrong both thrilled her and scared her. And yet, something niggled in the back of her mind. A thought that, though it floated through her brain, didn’t sprout roots until that very moment.
Why can’t I remember anything that happened before this morning?
She knew that they had been together for a long time, but she couldn’t remember anything that had happened before stepping off the ship. She only knew that she was from someplace far away, she running from something terrible, and that they had to leave the day after tomorrow to find someplace safer. She chewed a piece of bread thoughtfully and stared at Nic, trying to remember anything about him that hadn’t happened within a twenty-four hour period. She came up blank.
“I think it’s time for you two to go to bed now,” Nic said as Danny finished the last of his stew.
“But, I’m not sleepy,” Deanna whined.
“Well, Terra and I are, and we can’t go to bed until you go to bed. Do you know what that means?” he asked.
“We have to go to bed?” Danny asked sadly.
“Exactly,” Nic replied, taking the children’s bowls from them. He lifted Danny up and placed him on the bed. His sister followed.
Terra collected the bowls together.
“I’m going to bring these back downstairs,” she announced.
“You want me to come with you?” Nic asked over his shoulder.
“No. I’ll just be a minute,” she replied. “Good night, children.”
“Good night, Terra,” Danny sang.
“Good night, Terra,” Deanna chimed in.
Terra smiled and closed the door behind her. She pressed her back to it and sighed.
It was late. The hallway was empty. People were either sleeping or partying at that time of night. She could hear the noise from upstairs. Someone was having a party, and the guests were singing loudly about a Jack-Of-All-Trades. Terra wanted to be upstairs among them, singing and drinking. She wanted to be a part of the crowd. She wanted to belong. As she walked down the steps to the kitchen, she began to sing what she thought were the lyrics of the song:
“I'm a roving jack of many a trade, of every trade, of all trades, and if you wish to know my name, they call me Jack of all trades.”
She smiled and thought to herself, If only I knew what it meant.
CHAPTER 24
Roland looked through the window and watched the stars move across the night sky. The thought of sleep eluded him the moment Joanna laid down beside him. Her body was beyond warm, and he could feel her strong legs stretched alongside his own. As she’d drifted deeper off into sleep, she’d turned over, placing a small hand on his chest and throwing one leg over his. The moment seemed so perfect. So natural. But it didn’t last. By the time he saw Marshall get out of his bed and pull on his pants, Joanna had gone back to her side of the bed, leaving him lonely and anxious.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I can’t sleep. I need a drink.”
“Can I come?” Roland asked.
“Sure,” Marshall replied.
Roland carefully got up so as not to wake Joanna and pulled on his shirt and boots. With one last look at the woman whose heart he ached to possess, he crept across the room and followed Marshall out the door and down the steps. No one loitered in the hallways now. Even the front desk was empty now.
They walked out of the door and into the cooler night air.
To Roland’s surprise, the streets were almost as full as they were earlier. Men and women sat on dirty steps, fanning themselves in the heat and passing brown bottles between them. Somewhere, someone banged on a piano. The tunes floated over their heads, harmonizing with the flies that landed on them from time to time. Roland swatted them away and kept moving. Groups of teenagers ran from one house to another, sometimes together, sometimes apart.
A woman with long, dark hair walked hand in hand with a tall, dark skinned gentleman. They rounded a corner and stood in the dark alleyway, their hands roving, their lips pressed to one another. A few minutes later, the woman emerged from the alleyway with a smile and walked back into the house, while the man began a spirited walk down the street.
Seconds later, the man stopped, felt his pockets, and ran screaming back into the house, disappearing into the music and the smoke.
“Where’s everybody going?” Roland asked, as a woman in a fancy dress and high heels walked past him and into a nearby house.
Marshall shrugged. “Dance halls, brothels, midnight prayer meetings. Who knows?”
From the corner of his eye, Roland saw a man walking down the street, a hook in his back pocket.
“What’s the hook for?” he asked.
“To steal stuff.”
“Do they steal a lot around here?”
“All the time.”
“Is that where you got these clothes?”
Marshall cleared his throat. “Look: not all stealing is alike. There’s your autumn divers and groaners, who work the churches, your bludgets, that’s your female thief, and then there’s your angler. Those are the high-class thieves who use high class means to catch a high-class tide. That man is an angler.”
“Which one are you?” Roland asked.
Marshall smirked. “I like to think of myself as Robin Hood. I rob from the rich to give to the poor. In this case, no one’s poorer than you.”
“What happens if you get caught?”
“Well, that depends on who you get caught by. If the cops catch you, then they’ll ship you off to jail, and stripes ain’t really my color. If the guy you were trying to be partial with catches you, then you’ll end up in a box and fly off to that big dance hall in the sky.”
Roland nodded, and looked around. I hope the owner of these pants isn’t out tonight.
Just then, the tall man flung open the door and dragged the woman down the steps. When they got to the bottom, he swung a hand at her face, sending her spiraling to the cobblestone.
“Help!” the woman screamed. “He’s crazy! He’s trying to kill me!”
“Where’s my money?!” the man screamed.
Before she could answer, he slapped her hard in the mouth.
She let out a scream that sent chills down Roland’s back.
“We should help her,” he said, walking toward the commotion.
“No,” Marshall said sharply, pulling Roland back. “No. Let’s go.”
“But she needs our help.”
“Roland, I’m going to tell you something about New Yorkers. We don’t see nothing, and we don’t hear nothing. You keep to yourself, and you stay alive. That’s how we do things around here. Besides, that man is giving her some great career advice.”
“What?”
Marshall snickered. “After tonight, she’ll be a much better thief.”
The woman had stopped screaming now. Roland wondered if sh
e was dead.
I should have helped her. I could have done something. No woman deserves to be hit, no matter what they’ve stolen.
Feeling heavy with the guilt that came from his inaction, he followed Marshall into a place called Billy’s Bar. The sign was painted in black letters stretched across a wooden plank. The plank was hammered over the doorway, with crooked nails. It didn’t look steady. In fact, every breath of wind made the sign creak and groan. Roland quickly stepped inside.
~()~()~()~()~
A tall man eyed them from behind the bar as he polished dirty drinking glasses with an even dirtier rag.
“Hey, Mars!” the man said with a laugh. “Mars, is that you?”
Marshall squinted at him. “Do I know you?”
“Do you know me? This guy! What? Did those bullets take out a chunk of your brain? It’s your Uncle Billy. I’ve known you since you were just a bump in my sister’s belly.”
Uncle Billy? I’ve never heard of that name. Well, obviously he’s heard of me. He is my uncle after all. Must be my memory going again.
They sat at the bar. “So what you drinking, Mars? It’s on me.”
“Just a beer for me, Bill,” Marshall replied. He jerked his head at Roland. “Water for him.”
“Hey. That’s Uncle Billy to you. If you don’t remember your favorite Uncle Billy, then they must’ve really messed you up out there.” He poured them two beers. “How’s your brother?”
“He’s dead.” Marshall sipped lazily at the warm beer, trying to ignore the way his hands shook at the mention of his brother. Even now he saw the way his brains splattered over the green grass when the rebels blew his head off.
“Little Mattie’s dead? Does your mother know?”
Marshall sighed. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I can’t remember much these days.”
“Well, it’s time I paid her a visit, anyway.” Uncle Billy cleared his throat. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Roland. He’s visiting from India.”
“India, huh? That explains the water.” Uncle Billy’s eyebrow raised. “Say, you’re the whitest Indian I’ve ever seen.”
“He’s the only Indian that you’ve ever seen.” Marshall scoffed.
Suddenly, his memory returned. Pictures of him playing with this man as a child flashed through his mind. He saw himself on his uncle’s back, and in his arms. They would play stickball in the streets, and play catch in the New York sunshine. They were great friends. But there was some sort of argument between Billy and Marshall’s mother, and then, Billy was gone.
Oh yes, my mother. My mother is dead. She died right before I left. I never knew my father. Uncle Billy was like my father. I loved him. But if he doesn’t know that my mother is dead, then they must not have gotten over their fight. What was it about, anyway?
Marshall took another swig of the beer. He didn’t feel like telling the story of his mother’s slow, sickly death tonight.
~()~()~()~()~
A loud bang from behind made Roland turn on his stool. Sitting at a nearby table, two men and one woman stared at a wrinkled sheet of paper.
“I can’t believe that Sheldon dropped out at the last minute,” one of them said. He was tall with strong features and an air of confidence around him. He was the darkest man that Roland had ever seen. His head was bald and glistening with the sweat of the night.
“Sheldon didn’t drop out, Ian. He was drafted,” said the woman next to him. She was much shorter and equally dark. Her eyes were sharp ovals, her nose sat on her face like a button, and her lips were so smooth that they shined.
“The drafters don’t leave until Monday. What’s clogging up his Sunday schedule?”
“He has to say goodbye to his family, he has to pack his things, he has to get his affairs in order.”
Ian dismissed her with a wave and crossed his arms across his chest.
“Regardless of what happened to Sheldon, we need a final speaker tomorrow.” The third speaker was a short, round, pale, teenage boy. When he talked, his mouth barely deviated from the tight line on his face, but, to compensate, he moved his head from side to side with every word, causing his long hair to shake with his head movements.
“Where are we going to find a speaker on such short notice?” Ian asked. “We need someone who is bold, who believes in the movement, and who will fight with us until the very end. We need someone who wants everyone to have the opportunity for truth, liberty, and justice.”
“Yes, Ian. You don’t have to sell us on the motto,” the teen said. “I wrote it. But you’re talking to the wrong crowd. Where are you going to find someone like that when you’re sitting in a bar at three in the morning?”
“I’ll do it,” Roland spoke up.
The group looked at him.
Roland didn’t know why he spoke up, but there was something in his soul that had been telling him to say something to the people ever since he heard them speak. He didn’t know what it was, but it was too powerful to ignore.
And there’s no going back now.
“Who are you?” Ian asked.
“My name is Roland.”
“Roland what?”
“Just Roland.”
I can’t remember the rest of it, if there is anymore. And it wouldn’t be wise to tell these people everything, anyway.
“Just Roland, have you ever spoken in public before?”
I can’t remember that either.
“Yes.”
The group let out a collective sigh of relief.
“Excellent. Come and sit with us,” the teen invited.
Roland looked over at Marshall, who was nursing his third beer and eyeing a red head in the corner. She lifted one corner of her glossy red mouth in a half smile, and he smiled back.
“Marshall, I’ll be right back,” Roland said.
“Go ahead. I’ll be here,” Marshall said, not taking his eye off the red head.
Roland nodded at Uncle Billy, and hopped off the stood. There was excitement in his step as he slid into an empty chair.
“Hello, just Roland. My name is Ian. This is Missy and Bailey.”
The woman and the pudgy man waved.
“So you’ve spoken at abolitionists rallies before?” Bailey asked.
“Sure,” Roland replied without thinking.
“Do you have a speaker’s name?”
“Roland.”
“Roland what?”
Roland hesitated. “Roland … Roland…”
“McAllen,” he heard Marshall whisper behind him.
“McAllen,” Roland repeated. “Roland McAllen.”
The group looked at each other, then at Roland.
“Well, Roland McAllen,” Bailey said with a smirk. “This is a really important rally, so you’re going to need some better clothing then what you have on. I can get you a suit if you need.”
“Thank you,” Roland replied.
Hopefully, you’ll provide a bath, too.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Missy asked.
Roland thought about the question for a moment.
Can I speak about freedom? Of course. That’s all I talk about anyway.
“Yes; I am,” Roland replied.
Missy didn’t look convinced, and she took a swig of her drink. It was the same drink that Mashall had been downing by the smell of it.
“Great. The rally is at the Square on Chambers and Lexington, not too far from here. You do know where that is, don’t you?” Ian asked.
“Marshall will take me,” Roland replied.
He heard Marshall begin to choke on his beer and smiled.
Too late to protest now.
“Great!” Ian said, shaking Roland ’s hand. “Well, we will see you at twelve thirty sharp. You’re the last speaker. Bailey will drop off your clothes.”
“Where are you staying?” Bailey asked, looking at Roland from head to toe.
“In the boarding house down the street. Second floor. Room five.”
“Great. See you tomorrow.”
With that, they collected their papers and were out the door. Roland smiled. He nearly floated back over to Marshall.
“Did you hear that?” he asked. “I’m going to be a speaker at a rally.”
“I heard that I’m going to be escorting you there. I told you that I wanted to leave tomorrow morning!”
“But we can’t leave tomorrow! You have to hear my speech. Please, Marshall!”
“No. I’ve got to get out of here. Do you know how close I am to the draft office?” he asked, looking around him for listeners. “I’m AWOL, remember? I could be arrested if anyone found out. Why’d you volunteer, anyway? You’re not even from around here!”
“I had to. They stand for freedom, and so do I.”
“Well, stand on your own. I’m leaving at first light.”
“Marshall, please! This is important to me.”
“Do you know what they do to men who just leave the army without warning? I could be executed!”
“Just for a few hours. I promise you, just for a few hours. Just take me to give my speech, and then you can leave. Please, Marshall!” Roland pleaded.
“Come on, Mars,” Uncle Billy chimed in. “Take him to his speech.”
Marshall sighed and polished off his glass of beer.
“Fine. I’ll come to see your speech, but after that, I’m leaving.”
“Excellent.” Roland smiled. “Now what’s an abolitionist?”
Uncle Billy concealed a laugh and walked away.
Marshall shook his head and smirked. “They don’t have abolitionists in India?”
Roland hesitated for a moment. “No.”
Marshall’s eyes stayed on him for a long stretch of seconds.
Roland tucked his legs under the bar and waited for Marshall to say something.
Finally, he did. “Look: I know that you’re not from India,” he said. Roland gulped. “I knew it since I met you.” He took a long swig of beer from his glass and slammed it down on the counter, causing it to swish in the glass and spill over. He turned toward Roland again, his eyes dulling with the alcohol. “But if you won’t tell, then I won’t tell.” He smiled.
Roland let out a relieved breath. “All right.” He smiled back.